


Medicine

by timeladyofletters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Dean, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 14:19:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2815142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeladyofletters/pseuds/timeladyofletters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reader confronts Dean about his alcoholism. I suck at writing summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Medicine

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song "Medicine" by Daughter.

It had been a close call. Again. This hunt was going well at first; you and the boys had ganked a murderous witch and all seemed well. Until you were in the car, all ready to go home. Dean was driving, as always, when he suddenly started coughing. At first the three of you thought nothing of it. Then the coughs got more and more violent, prompting Dean to hastily pull over to the side of the road, where he got out and started coughing up blood. The rest was a blur: you were at Dean’s side, holding him up to make sure he didn’t choke, while Sam searched the car and found the cause of the problem: a hex bag. He promptly destroyed it and soon Dean stopped coughing and began to breathe again. Sam drove the rest of the way home while Dean sat in the back of the car with you, his head resting on your shoulder as he drifted into an exhausted sleep.

Later that night, you woke up to the sound of someone rummaging around in the bunker. It couldn’t have been Sam, he was never that loud. So you reached over to the other side of your bed to wake your boyfriend up, but Dean wasn’t there.  _Oh_. You glanced at your phone to check the time. 3:12am.

With a heavy sigh, you lifted your sore body out of your warm bed and left the room. You followed the sounds until you found Dean sitting fully dressed at the library table, emptying out a bottle of whisky into a glass.

“A little early for a drink, do you think?” you asked, yawning afterward.

“Its happy hour somewhere,” Dean grumbled before downing the whiskey.

“So what was with all the noise just now?” you probed as you took a seat beside him.

Dean twirled the empty glass in his hand before answering, his eyes avoiding yours the whole time. “Needed a beer, but we’re out. I gotta make a supply run in the morning anyways.”

You nodded solemnly. “Dean, wasn’t that bottle of whiskey full a few days ago?”

“Yeah, so? What’s your point, Y/N?” Dean snapped.

You had been here before, you and him. This wasn’t the first time you’d confronted him about his drinking, but it was an argument that you hated having with him.

“Dean, I know things are rough. I do. I get it. But you can’t just keep drinking your problems away. I –”

“No, Y/N, you don’t get it!” Dean cut you off. “I almost died a few hours ago.  _Again._ And that’s nothing compared to all the other shit. You and Sammy got hurt. You keep getting hurt and bad things keep happening and I can’t stop any of it. I just keep screwing up while everyone else pays the price.” Dean was speaking loudly and slurring some of his words, but you knew he wasn’t drunk. “Drinking; it makes me feel better. Hell, my alcohol tolerance is so high right now that it’s doing me more good than bad. Like medicine.”

The room was silent for a while as you processed what he had said. Then Dean set the glass down and got up, making his way towards the kitchen. Before he could get there, you stood and grabbed his hand, turning him to face you. His green eyes were dark and heavy, reflecting the pain and sadness he was feeling.

“Dean Winchester,” you started. Your voice was soft and low, though louder than a whisper. “You need to stop saying and thinking these things about yourself, because they’re not true. Do you want to know what is?”

You waited a moment for Dean to react, though you knew he wouldn’t.

“You are the most wonderful, beautiful man I’ve even known. And I don’t just mean your looks, which are pretty killer.” That got a hint of a smile out of him. “Your heart – it’s so warm. I’ve never met anyone who loves as fiercely and truly as you do. And your mind – you’re a genius, Dean. You’re so smart. Not just with hunting, but with cars and research and just everything. You’re always surprising me in the best ways, even though I learned a long time ago to never underestimate you. But the alcohol…you’re using it like a crutch. You’ve gone through a whole bottle of whiskey and countless amounts of beer in this week alone. You see how messed up that is, right?””

Dean nodded and took a deep breath before speaking again. “I know, Y/N. I know I need to stop. And I’ve tried. I tried to stop or at least cut down, because I want to be better for you. I want to be who I was when we first met, do you remember that?”

You did. It was years ago, right after John went missing and Sam left Stanford to go back to hunting. Dean was different then. One might even say he was happy. He smiled more, joked around a lot. And he loved his job. But now? It was like he was someone else.

“Things were bad back then too, but I was more…I don’t know…optimistic? Even when I had that demon deal hanging over my head like a knife, I still saw a light somewhere. Sam said it was hellfire, but still, I saw it. Now it’s all gone.” He must have seen the hurt in your eyes, because he then said “I hate saying all of this to you because you know how much I care about you. You’ve made my life so much better. It’s not you, it’s me. Yeah, that’s a shitty line, but it’s true. You’re amazing, Y/N, and I want to be enough for you, but I’m not.”

“No Dean,” you insisted, hating how much he was hurting himself. “You’re everything. You’re  _good_. You may not see it, but I do. So does Sammy. And everyone you’ve ever helped.”

Dean closed his eyes and leaned his forehead to rest against your own. You could smell the whiskey on his breath, but it didn’t bother you.

“And that person you used to be? You’re still him, Dean. You’re still you,” you told him. “You’ve just gone through more crap than everyone else in the world, but that doesn’t mean there’s no hope for you. As for all the bad things you feel? You don’t need alcohol to drown it. When you feel the need for a drink, find me. We’ll talk or make out or bake or anything you want. Please?”

“So what you’re saying is, you’ll be my medicine?” Dean asked as he wrapped his arms around you and tucked your head under his chin.

You giggled at his choice of words as you snuggled into his chest. “Yes, Dean. I’ll be your medicine.”


End file.
